Simple Plan
by Slycmase
Summary: It was SUPPOSED to be simple. A-Rescue. B-Getting it out of his Hands. C-Live his normal life without any more surprises. Too bad Squidward never gets what he wants. In retrospect, he should've known that getting involved would be a bad idea.
1. Beginning

Squidward's eye twitched in irritation.

The loud, unending stream of pure unfiltered noise from the outside was bad enough without ruining his day. He glared at the floor, already perfected the path of confrontation to the lucky neighbor who had done nothing but make his life his personal hell. His lowered tentacles shook as he felt a migraine on its way. The grip to his Clarinet grew tighter by the second, conveniently quelling his desire to throw something in his frustration.

Leave it to his neighbor to make death seem more appealing than the sweet embrace of life. Sure, the kid can be quite useful at times, but he was still Spongebob: Excessive chatter, goofy dumb face, and enough naiveté to be at the age of a literal child. (How old is that little twerp, anyway?)

Another round of crying sent his tentacles an urgency to block off the noise, but to no avail.

"I'll give that little idiot a piece of my mind," he grumbled to himself with an unconsciously formed glare. With gritted teeth, he carefully stashed his beloved clarinet inside its custom-made holder before he stomped off to get his neighbor to stop the wails.

It was Sunday. Conclusion: It was Squidward's day off and time for relaxation. Or at least, it was supposed to be. That stupid Sponge just can't keep his stupid mouth shut, can he? And it wasn't even the happy squeal of excitement. Oh no. Even in his blubbering and crying, his neighbor didn't even have the decency to try and keep his whines to himself. How utterly inconsiderate! How was Squidward supposed to practice with all this incessant yapping!?

"For crying out loud," he muttered to himself, no pun intended, "Spongebob! Would you stop making a ruckus and be quiet for once!? I'm trying to play my clarinet, emphasis on trying." his voice dripped with his usual venom. His front door gave way easily, and Squidward slammed it forcefully for dramatic effect. Yes, he was angry, he was annoyed, but that's no excuse to not do an outrage in style. Ah yes. The curses of being a drama queen artist.

He shivered; the piercing cold from the outside water almost made him turn back. Either someone forgot to close the Krusty Krab freezer again or the winter season was picking up. As he recalled back the time where he stayed on a snow fort for hours, the safe guess would be that another iceberg was nearing town.

He glanced around quickly and saw nothing out of the ordinary, so Squidward went on to assume that he had done his job. The yellow nuisance must've gone inside his house, he mused. There's no point getting upset if nobody loses, he then assured himself, so in his indignation he decided to take matters into his own hands and to bring his self-justified fight to his co-worker.

With rolled eyes for good measure, he continued grumbling to himself about his idiotic acquaintance. He shut his door with a satisfying smack!, only for a lone piece of paper to fall off due to the intensity.

Who would pin such a stupid thing- Who was he kidding? Squidward's eyes once again twitched in irritation. He picked the paper to where it fell with an exaggerated groan. Sponge. Bob.

Honestly. If his driving teacher didn't kill that yellow nuisance first, Squidward would have to do that himself. Preferably soon.

The messy handwriting was familiar, given from all the idiotic messages he sometimes sent Squidward after receiving a customer's order. Or the rare times where the Sponge didn't think it was necessary to break into his house that day, and just leaves a letter. Or whenever he couldn't reach the Cephalopod's phone…

"Oh joy. I wonder what this could be." He said in a complete monotone. A sigh left him lost in a sea of hopelessness, suffocating him faster than he would've thought. Was there really no escape from his obnoxious and loud neighbor for the rest of his natural life? Heck, he wasn't even sure if he could escape the sponge in death.

'Couldn't find you and I think your phone is broken again so I just want to tell you: me and Patrick and Gary are visiting my parents! I'll see you back on work after the weekend, so you don't have to miss me. Love, Spongebob 3'

He stifled another protest that wouldn't be heard either way. Of course his phone wasn't broken, he thought to himself with an almost comical look of disbelief. Of course he'd lied to get Spongebob get off his back, and that he'd already blocked his neighbor's number in every type of communication device he has…

But if both of his neighbors were not present…

A sudden rustling jolted him from his thoughts. "Wh-Who's there?!" He all but shouted, the panic making him wary. He raised his tentacles in defense.

A quick look around confirmed that he was, indeed, alone. "Paranoid." He muttered to himself, the underwhelming turn of events making him feel… idiotic? Stupid was still a strong word, after all. He spared a quick glance at the window above him, his clarinet only a short walk inside. Maybe he just needs his music.

Music… was loud. The wailing he'd heard was loud. But eerily…

He shivered, but he wasn't quite sure if it had been because of the weather this time. There was an unnatural silence making the atmosphere go heavy. He trailed his eyes towards the sky, only noticing now how the sky grew darker even though it was only in the afternoon. Even the atmosphere feels gloomy, although that might be just the cold season picking up.

He gave a small shiver, storing the strange noise in the back of his mind-

A box.

A lone box was placed in front of his neighbor's house.

An innocently looking box used in everyday shipping, packaging or delivering. It was perfectly normal that Spongebob might have one in front of his door, especially if he is gone for the moment. But it felt off. Not that he'd memorized it or anything, but Squidward found it unsettling that the package didn't come with the usual colorful comics Spongebob usually subscribed to. The one about Fish Man and Baloney Boy? Well, whatever that was, why aren't those with this package here?

A familiar but unnamed emotion struck deep. Pain? No, he was well aware of that. Guilt? No, still not right.

It was the feeling that made his heart race, an overwhelming need to move. But do what? Why move?

He needs to-

He needs to….

Oh dear Neptune.

No.

No, no no no-

With shaking legs, he rushed towards the abandoned box, already fearing the worst.

So many times he'd seen this on the news. "Abandoned Snail freezes to Death", "Newborn Worms left to starve." He remembered the disgust, the physical restraint he needed to avoid smashing his Television, the hatred he has for fishkind, how everyone is cruel and apathetic to let helpless animals to die. Jellyfish can survive in the wild, also Scallops or Clams, but Snails? Amoeba Puppies? Worms? These are not just wild animals! They were meant to be domesticated. They were pets. And somehow… people only notice when it's too late.

Late or not, Squidward wasn't gonna be one of the people who never did anything. Perhaps he sympathized with the creature left to his own devices. Perhaps being treated like a bad person all the time was getting way too much. Maybe it was a way of tricking himself that he was better than everyone else. So what?!

Despite his thoughts which all flew through a million directions a minute; coupled by the nervousness that smacked him hard, he still ran.

His chest burned in response to the sudden movement- it had already been so long since he had to do any sort of rigorous exercise. He was painfully aware to the frantic thud-thud-thud of his heart, as well as the sweat drops forming on his forehead.

He still wasn't sure why he would attempt to save something- a meager animal that had no place in his life... Or maybe that was his fears talking. Maybe he was scared that he'd already failed? He doesn't know! Not entirely comforting, yet it was the truth. It's not like he just knew this day would come, with a simple thought like 'I may be a horrible person but I might save a dying animal one day so that still makes me good enough.' That does not happen in real life.

Or was it the nagging voice that suspiciously sounds like a certain person he knows? Perhaps the mental image of his coworker slumped in depression due to not being there to save something, an animale that he doesn't need to feel responsible about, was something Squidward didn't need or want to see.

The question why he would even think that, or do anything for SpongeBob's sake, was thrown to the wind as he ran faster than if he would've to save his clarinet (if his house was on fire), before he finally slumped over near the box.

His tentacle wasn't stable yet he reached inside and began to feel, then paused as he encountered a soft surface. The water around his tentacle was being pulled and pushed in a slow but rhythmic moment. Filtering water. Whatever it is, it was breathing.

It's alive.

"Gaah!" Squidward gasped and wheezed; he wasn't even aware that he was holding his breath. And followed by a sprint worthy of a marathon? Yup, his lungs was really enjoying this.

"Hold on," He muttered, the performance made his body want to fall over and just suffer the aftertaste. But he couldn't do that now. He did make a commitment to save this thing, no matter what it is.

He did allow himself to catch his breath for a while, and then fixed his position. He briefly wondered if had enough time to make up a sob story to make his neighbor adopt this thing, after all, he's still not and never will be a saint. He just transferred from not having a soul to a morally decent being, and in his book, that's already more than enough.

He shifted his tentacles so that he was fully facing the box. The tragic backstory of abandonment and the freezing or starving to death should do the trick, and he'll just have to keep this thing for a day or two until the Sponge arrives.

"And then I'll be home free practicing!" He mused aloud, mind alight of all the glorious possibilities. "Spongebob would have his hands full with this, he'll leave me alone for hours! Better yet, days!"

He pulled back the box flap.

The silence that followed after spoke louder than words.

It was not a Snail.

And he had no idea how to deal with this.


	2. Nothing Stays The Same

In retrospect, a Snail meowing to death would sound different from a literal infant struggling with its survival.

Pro: He might have just saved a literal baby from freezing to death from the seeping touch of the winter season.

Con: Then again, He still had no idea how to deal with this.

It seemed like his mind was stuck in a 10 hour loop of shock. All he could do at the moment was stand there, mouth embarrassingly agape, his thoughts scrambled, trapped and numb. There was a literal baby, a sponge one at that, in front of his neighbor's house during that one-in-a-million day where the said neighbor actually left Bikini Bottom to visit his parents. And the one left to deal with this…. predicament? It was a very wrathful, easily annoyed, and most definitely not a motherly person: Squidward Freaking Tentacles.

If he wasn't the one in this situation and was just watching literally anyone else struggle with raising a child with no prior knowledge (or without even being the same species), then he would've applauded the cosmic joke. Well played Universe, well played.

Yet with all the fishes, octopodes, crabs or other aquatic animals living in the entire ocean, he's the one. Squidward wasn't sure if he should be flattered or insulted.

The infant in question had its eyes shut. Its sponge body was purple- or it might be lilac with that tinge of pink. Curiously enough, it didn't have the collection of freckles like… Squidward shook his head at that. He steered clear of that pointless thoughts, the ones relating to another sponge he knows, and focused all his attention to the one in front of him. There are better things to do, after all; like actually taking some action.

Giving off a huff, Squidward grabbed the box and tried not to jostle the little child inside. Having multiple arms or tentacles was actually useful for once- unlike most of the times where they just cause more pain when he gets in accidents. With one moronic and one head-in-the-clouds neighbor, said accidents happen more often than he'd like (which is never). Don't mind the fact that he doesn't really think it's an "accident" when his neighbors cost him bodily harm… Assault would be his first choice if asked with the wording.

The walk towards his own doorstep was astonishingly uneventful for him. Idly, he wondered if karma decided to leave him for a moment with real luck, since the day was passing quickly without him having some sort of injury. Maybe he'll trip the moment he sets down the box, or another house-sized pineapple would fall out of the sky.

With a quiet 'click', his door opened without any resistance. He awkwardly tried to maneuver the box to fit inside his door- but failed. Of coursethere would be an extra obstacle to every eleven minutes of his life. Karma, or perhaps simply all his misfortune, was back. Squidward decided to place down the box on the ground as he decided what his next course of action should be.

"I have to hold this thing now?" He asked aloud, a rhetorical question. His voice held the same contempt he always had, hiding the real terror within him. The empty space did not answer back, only gave an indication to his question with the way the infant tossed and turned, as if uncomfortable.

If he was truly honest, kicking the box to get it to fit inside but disturbing (or causing a mild heart attack) the sleeping infant did cross his mind. But he wasn't a total monster (he wasn't he wasn't he wasn't), that's why he resisted the urge as he bent down, leaned close, but jerked his tentacle back at the last second.

"What is wrong with me?" He muttered to himself, not as a deprecating thought, but more of a tired and curious one.

"Do you want a list?" He imagined his rival saying. Of course, if Squiliam was here, he'd probably hire a dozen nannies for the kid or use the abandoned child for free publicity. His rival would be on television and newspapers (what else is new?) for saving the infant out of the "Goodness of his Heart". The thought made Squidward absolutely sick. But how could he claim to be better than his rival, when he couldn't even get himself to pick up a starving, close to freezing child for its own safety?

Could he be better? Would he be able to…

"Oh grow a fucking pair, Tentacles." He heard his inner conscience growling at him, and at that point it wasn't exactly a surprise that it's as rude as he is. So he manned up, disregarded every thought screeching 'this is wrong, I shouldn't be doing this, I will make its suffering worse', and lifted.

The infant was indeed cold, and for a moment that seemed like eternity Squidward felt like absolute garbage that shouldn't be near anyone below 18 years old… but he managed to overcome that sensation. Nobody would tell him he is doing something wrong this time. He was alone- no one here to judge him, no one to dismiss his art, no one to make him realize what a failure he'd been, and no one would make him feel like he doesn't belong.

But the doubt still resonated within.

Before he could even take one single step, the little thing shifted in his arms, and Squidward froze, terrified. Was he right to be scared? He wondered if this was the part when the child not yet capable of thinking for his/her own would reject him, as everyone he encountered does it eventually. Sometimes without him doing anything to earn their disapproval.

Instead, the infant snuggled deeper into his arms, as if wanting to get closer to him. Squidward glanced around to see if some aliens were attacking or cuddle bears appeared from thin air. Nothing was out of the ordinary: so nope, not a dream. His eyes snapped back to his arms, skeptical but the evidence was undeniable.

It was so surreal, that he couldn't quite comprehend it at first. Does it not know that it was in the literal arms of the worst person in bikini bottom? Or at least, the most hated one?

The weight drowning him earlier dissipated quicker than its formation. He couldn't understand the warmth that settled in him right after, or why his lips slowly but surely turned up in a smile. Even his glare left, and his eyes lack he usual boredom. Instead, he was enthralled.

Even if the little sponge didn't exactly have the ability to think properly yet, or have any understanding of the word 'trust' at the moment… Squidward couldn't help the sudden affection that made him want to hug someone or something, even if a part of him knew and was screeching that the child only wanted warmth, not him specifically.

Wistfully, he wondered what he might've looked like to a passing stranger. Did he look like a love stricken father, or a hungry Octopus staring at a Krabby Patty?

He chuckled at the thought, shaking his head and mentally thanking Neptune that he was alone. Although alone would not be right, if he was to add the purple sponge to his solitude. Surprising even himself, he wondered why that didn't bother him at all; Thinking of himself as a father, or the fact that he is willing to share his space to a sponge.

Squidward's serenity faded as he heard the blaring 'krriiiiing' of his telephone. As if snapping back to his usual facade, he shoved all his thinking into the deepest corner of his mind and frowned. He shook away his foolish, pesky and complicated feelings, and convinced himself that he should not get attached. After all, nothing lasts forever and feelings can change. No need to burden himself with false hope and wishful thinking.


	3. From the Other Side

"Uhm Squidward, are you pregnant?"

"What the-, NO you barnacle head! Did you just assume my- Spongebob!" Squidward slammed his telephone down, hard. He was most certainly not embarrassed, flustered, or in _denial_. Figures the little twerp would make every interaction with him horrifying. And awkward?

Good Neptune, what sort of universe would allow him to ask his most hated being for _help_? It was a bitter pill to swallow, but maybe it _was_ his fault in the first place. He did ask a lot about children in general.

The phone rang loudly right after, and wanting to vent out his frustration, Squidward quickly answered it. But his neighbor had already beaten him to the punch.

"I'm soooorrry! I wasn't-, wasn't thinking- I shouldn't have- and I can make it up to you," was the sobbing response of easily the most annoying man-child Squidward had the displeasure to meet. The Cephalopod had the strangest desire to shudder, fully aware that if the Sponge was beside him at that moment, the yellow one would undoubtedly be invading his personal space in order to squeeze him in what simple minded people would call, a 'hug'.

The Sponge continued to blab on pointless apologies, which only fell to deaf ears.

Meanwhile, a mini rant was staged inside his mind. Why does it seem like the yellow sponge only has two emotions, the pure unadulterated bliss and the ungodly incessant crying over trivial things? And how do two different emotions both cause him harm and torment in his preferably normal life?

That reflection did not strike any sort of irony with the octopus; conveniently shielding himself from the fact that he might be the same with his hated co-worker. The only difference was that his go-to emotions was more on the negative scale: annoyance and the detachment to keep him from drowning in his misery.

"Pipe down, Spongebob. You're giving me a headache." Squidward grumbled, mostly to himself. He could almost imagine the other's reaction even through the phone. The Sponge's bright blue eyes overflowing with tears, freckled cheeks reddening more with the onslaught of emotion, face leaning down as if deflated. Pathetic. People-pleaser.

"Just answer the question, dimwit," he retorted, not even bothering to hold his tongue to stop insulting the one he needed help with at the moment.

"Okay..." The Sponge sniffed; sobbing done for now. If the octopus felt a twinge of guilt at that, it was ignored. "I remember liking cookies and milk as a kid. But I still like them so maybe that doesn't count?"

Sure, that's real _useful_ , the octopus wanted to reply. But he can't tip off the Sponge to his predicament, not yet. Not until he figured out the basic things still puzzling him.

Like who was the child's parents? Why leave the kid in the middle of winter season? And why had it been left outside a fry cook's front steps, of all places? Did the parents somehow know the Poriferan living there?

Their conversation and the octopus' musings were cut short when a persistent meow was heard on both sides. Spongebob laughed nervously. "I think Gary is getting hungry. He gets cranky when I don't feed him on time." As if on cue, the snail meowed again, a long angry rant. "I don't think I can help you today-"

"When have you ever?" Squidward deadpanned.

"But I'll be back tomorrow!"

"Oh joy." The octopus deadpanned. "Wait, before you go," he let his trademark snark vanish for a moment, "Do you happen to have any... purple relatives?" He didn't know why he tensed up waiting for the answer, tentacles curling around the phone worriedly...

Or why the sponge was suddenly quiet. There was a pause. "I don't think so." His co-worker alluded vaguely. Just then, another meow was heard. A muffled voice was audible. Was Spongebob covering his phone? Perhaps he was talking to his snail, as evidenced by the loud screeching meow heard from the octopus' side.

Squidward wasn't even aware that snails could growl until that moment. His Snellie has always been so behaved. Until the Great Snail Race, that is. Where he'd been forced to sell back his pet...

 _Focus_ , he mentally scolded himself. The phone call wasn't that informative; Better to cut it off now instead of waiting for nothing.

"Well it has been real nice talking with ya," Squidward interrupted whatever conversation the Sponge was having with his Snail, "But I don't think this talk needs to go anywhere. You have proven, that just like usual, that you are useless to me." Harsh? Maybe. Blunt? Definitely.

The Sponge didn't react. But someone else did.

"Is this Squidward?" A soft feminine voice asked.

A bit thrown off, the octopus could only answer, "Yes...?" uncertain whether he should be sharing sensitive information with a nobody over the phone.

"Great." The person on the other side sounded oddly contented.

The mystery caller's nonchalance surprised the octopus. He was not usually affiliated with someone who wouldn't immediately slam the phone down after knowing his identity, or him doing the same thing.

"I'm Spongebob's mom. I got him to feed his pet, can I talk to you for a bit?"

Oh. The parent. Great.

"Uhmm," He didn't want to disagree, per se, since that would be rude to the female. But there was a million things he'd rather do than talk to the literal conceiver of his daily tormentor. But the woman was clearly expecting an answer as the silence between them stretched, so he cleared his throat noisily before forcing out, "Yeah, sure."

"Perfect!" The woman chirped, giddy. Ha. If only he could be that ecstatic.

Oblivious to the octopus' reluctance, the soft feminine voice spoke again. "I just worry about my darling son sometimes. Me and Harold," she clarified. The Harold must be the father, the octopus mused. Another person to begrudge for the bane of his existence.

"He's so independent. Overachiever little thing... he grew up so fast," she gave off a happy sigh, the simultaneous quiet pride and melancholy that only a parent could hope to achieve. "My little Bobby rarely visits anymore. Oh, sorry. I meant Spongebob." She laughed at her own backtrack, which made no sense to the octopus.

"Spongebob... He doesn't want me babying him anymore, but he'll always be my little Bobby to me." The next words she muttered was hushed whispers, as if telling a secret. "Besides, I think his grandmother babies him too."

 _I think you can gush over your child without me_ , was what he wanted to say. Or even: _do you think I care?_

He was going to give some lame excuse to the woman, because Holy Neptune hearing about the unconditional love of parents... Loving parents are nothing more than a treat from the past for him now. Without so much as a warning, a memory popped to the top of his head. Squidward could vaguely remember a time... teasing the Sponge because of his flamboyant love for his grandmother. He winced. Looking back, all those felt cruel to him now.

When the octopus failed to reply, Mrs. Squarepants gasped quietly. "Oh dear. Have I taken much of your time?"

Squidward was quick to reassure her. "It's fine. I don't have anything planned anyway." It was a big fat lie- the clock ticking downward noisily on his left could attest to that. In the Octopus' book, the only time worth spending was if he spent it on himself. His Sunday was close to ending already. So what if he's selfish and pretending otherwise? Sue him.

"He likes it there, right? Bikini Bottom? Are the fishfolk there treating him right?" The reminiscent adult was gone, replaced by the anxiety of a mama bear.

Squidward felt tempted to lie. A quick, 'he hates it here but doesn't want to show it,' could make the Sponge's parents reluctant to have him come back to haunt the octopus. What parent would allow their children to go to a place they hate? Plus, maybe he would be doing the Yellow Poriferan a favor.

"Is he... happy? Neptune, I know it sounds so trivial but... Can you say for sure that my son isn't regretting his life in there?"

Squidward was struck by the sudden urge to laugh. It would be so, so _easy_ to lie then and there. To tell the mama Sponge that her 'darling Bobby' was faking his happy little life and actually hated being apart from his doting parents.

"Are you still there?"

"Yeah, yeah." Squidward said distantly. "He's certainly... happy here."

He couldn't quite pinpoint what prompted him to... well. Telling the truth had always been so difficult for him.

He couldn't help it, however.

Any sort of sadistic glee he might've found would be forever tainted by the small renaissance his conscience had. That and he the silence he wasn't accustomed to now might actually drive him insane. It wasn't to say that he missed the Sponge.

He wasn't quite that masochistic.

Without the Sponge there, maybe, just a tad bit, slightly, he could admit that, having someone else to hate gave him a sense of purpose, given him another target besides himself.

"Good, good.' Mama Sponge sounded relieved. "I wouldn't want to intrude upon your time more than I already have-"

People backing out from wanting to talk to him? Now _that's_ something Squidward's accustomed to.

"Yeah, yeah." Squidward didn't even have to mentally power through the conversation, it was practically routine. No hard feelings whatsoever. "I'll be going now."

When he finally brought down the phone, he didn't know whether he was the one that actually benefited from the conversation.

He couldn't help but feel a little lighter, though.

It certainly made an afternoon slightly less lonesome.


	4. Equinox

He peered down at the infant squirming on the soft surface of his bed.

"Happy little thing," he observed, unable to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

The child gurgled something that mildly sounded like an agreement.

It stared at him with too bright eyes and a little wonder.

Squidward wondered if he were treating this as more of an experiment, more than anything. Why else would he try to aim to prove his capabilities to a little thing?

It seemed to regard everything with wonder, honestly, but Squidward would rather drink bile than to have to admit that this thing wasn't finding him exclusively interesting.

He can have that, right? A little harmless delusion to get him through... his life?

 _'You're already being needy,'_ a dark voice in his mind whispered. _'Can't even wait to destroy this one, huh?'_

Squidward held his breath to have something, a reminder, a part of him that he could still control.

 _'Attached on something that couldn't run away... Fitting, right?'_ His mind taunted him.

A chorus of _'don't get attached'_ ran in his head, and it was loud. How could he rein his thoughts when they were his? From him, and therefore, _him?_

From him, undeniably a product of the very self he had boasted upon to others. What he _should_ think… Who decides the _should?_ Who decides the norm?

Was he even… capable of having _something_ , without his mind running a mile a minute, without his mind trying to overthink?

He's… doing it again, wasn't he?

Whatever strands more he might've gone run off on was interrupted by a loud peal of laughter.

To be left alone in solitude… to be left alone with only his thoughts as company, he was beginning to see how much he relied on others to distract him.

And distract, _he sought._

It laughed again.

It was the sort of infant laughter that sounded mildly of both forcibly ejecting a cough but high pitched, a gasp and squeal all at once.

Squidward could hardly ignore that tone.

Feigning tiredness (never one to admit he might actually be genuinely interested), he sighed and turned to meet the infant's eyes.

The sponge didn't care about whatever mental gymnastics he seemed to have- How would it?

Wonder, bright smiles greeted him, and he couldn't help but be fully immersed.

Did his mind have anything on the apparent joy of an infant comprehending nothing... simply enjoying the very existence it found itself in?

Is his troubles really that all consuming when the little sponge's ignorance just screamed bliss?

He _knows_ , no matter how long he's tried to fake it, or convince himself otherwise, that he hasn't really let himself be happy in a long time.

And whose fault was that, really?

He'd done enough introspection to determine that he was bitter.

The only thing left was to actually take a step.

Just one step.

To try and remedy it.

Staring at this one child, the one that started back at him with its too big eyes- he lets himself wonder, for a moment, if he could have that-

Perhaps a laugh that wasn't edged in snark? A smile that isn't to mock?

 _'You don't deserve it.'_ His mind said.

He couldn't argue.

So he didn't.

He didn't let himself think too much after that.

Mildly playing once, twice- long enough that he'd lost track of time- he let himself be in the moment, ignoring the heaviness within him in favor of play.

And as the dark set in that day, as his weekend signaled the end of his rest and the soft bubble of his comfort, he found himself mildly dreading the very presence of his neighbor, and whatever horrors comes with his return.

But at the end of the day, he had company- one that was fussy and demanded his attention- and he let himself dread only a little, and if he found himself getting more and more likely to smile to the infant's laughs- well. He only had himself to hand out judgement.

* * *

Monday morning, and the day of reckoning came too tame for Squidward's liking. No explosions, no random fish screaming 'It's the end of the world' like a lunatic?

Anti-climatic, Squidward shook his head, almost as if some loser dictating his life didn't bother with making things interesting- and wasn't that a thought, really, to have someone decide your every action and how much you breathed with just a tap of the keyb-

He exhaled and raised an eyebrow.

He's self-aware enough to notice when his thoughts have gotten a little ridiculous.

He has never been particularly religious- he'd much prefer cursing out the higher ruling class- Damn Neptune and all that- but still, he's been aware of this figure his entire life.

Classmates, peers, even adult figures have had some minor knowledge of _it_ , an entity that they believe to be a god.

It was said that something called a Marine Biologist to be the cause of their existence- but a god, whether it be real or fake- wasn't something he cared enough to entertain the idea of.

To curse at with his misgivings, sure.

Squidward wouldn't call it a cult by any means, if it was, it certainly one of the tamer ones- no news of them being all mass murdering or pleasure based- but it was still difficult of a notion for him to entertain.

If the myths were real, does he somehow deserve having his creator utterly forsake him? Leave him in this world with his own personal brand of hell?

So the actual belief, actual worship?

He should probably let the little sponge decide their beliefs when they grow older.

Stop _stalling,_ he urged his mind.

He'd timed his escape so thoroughly.

Maybe he could, for a while, escape to a fantasy where he wasn't the subject of attention from his... how do you say annoying in the worst possible way... but he knew he couldn't keep that on forever. He was sure of it as much as he was sure it was both dread and anxiety that blocked his body from finish that final step, opening the door-he hated how much it was becoming a theme for him to be too anxious on his own-

The infant squirmed from behind him, and it might've been a coincidence, and not so much as a cheer of encouragement, but he got it within himself to straighten up, and _pulled._

A light so utterly bright blinded him as he opened up the door, and it might've been a freak accident, really, or it might've been whatever torch his neighbor brought- and he found himself groaning already, mildly from familiarity from the many shenanigans he knew was to come, and the lithe excitement of his tongue ready to lash out with his own witticism.

"Squidward!" Shouted in a long sing-song with almost synchronized elegant arms, reaching out to tightly pull him, and he couldn't quite vault out of the way without disturbing his ward-

It was barely more than a second before the other drew back- a record! Perhaps noticing his getup- the straps to his torso preventing the yellow sponge from fully embracing him, and Spongebob went from mildly confused (not an inherent trait? really?) to utter enrapture.

Squidward watched as the sponge calmly, utterly calm, as if in a trance, saw his ward.

Besotted.

The kid behind his back as well, seeming to squeal louder at the other sponge's touch-

Squidward hadn't known that the other had it in him to be so still, and gentle, with both determination and confidence-

Who was he kidding, he'd known that all along. It was simply more than hard to associate it with his hellish actions-

But actions, that nonetheless-

Got his ward responding positively.

Well.

That's a thing now.

He knew, without a doubt, that things certainly had become a lot more complicated.


End file.
